Incite, page 10
They clap, cheer and holler with the unforeseen. The overdue change to the routine they unknowingly longed for. A line in the crowd's reaction divides them in half. The two halves are polar opposites. The men and woman on the top half boo and hiss, calling Stirling a cheat and to remove him from the games.
Stirling is instructed by the referee to ride his dragon down to the middle of the race track. Ignis hangs back between the brick red dragon and the draco belonging to the rider in the green and yellow cape.
Taking his place, Stirling stands between the second and third-place riders directly in front of their corresponding dragons.
“And in first place, we have Stirling of Patu!”
Stirling is glowing. He can’t control the ever-expanding grin across his face. He tilts his head up to the wispy cloud sky. First of many.
“Here are your winnings,” the announcer says, holding out a canvas drawstring bag.
Stirling cups his hands underneath the bag. The announcer releases it letting it drop into his palms. His hands bob from the weight of the coins. He is still learning their currency, but he is positive this is more than the bakery earns annually. He wriggles his fingers feeling the metal shift inside the fabric.
Still playing with the coins, Stirling sprints his eyes across the audience before hiding them away in the safety of Ignis. Dipping his chin, he’s unsure on what to make of the opposite dynamic in moods.
The winners are escorted off the raceway in preparation for the intermediate competitor's race to begin.
Stirling’s feet barely cross the threshold through a walkway under the bleachers into the civilian side when Eve ambushes him. Leaping into him she wraps her arms around his neck pulling him tightly into her. “You did it! You did it!”
Momentarily stunned Stirling puts one arm around her half returning her embrace. She is significantly taller than Amiria, her face nuzzling perfectly into the crook of his neck. The top of her head is at nose height where Amiria’s head barely reaches his chin.
Eve releases Stirling, backing away in time for Bernard to throw his arm around Stirling’s shoulders. Tousling his hair, Bernard tells him, “Boy, you were incredible. Way to bend the rules out there. Though you gave us quite a scare there in the beginning. You all right? What happened?”
“Yeah,” Stirling says, half truthful. He squirms out from Bernard's arm. “The horn. It startled me. I should be...fine now, now that I know what to expect...But the race.” His face brightens. “The race, it was exhilarating! This is what I unknowingly wanted my whole life and I never want it to stop.”
Fighting was never something he saw himself doing. He was never inspired to join the Cavalry so he could serve and protect. He doesn’t enjoy the idea of raising a sword against another person. All he wanted in life was to fly, to be able to be weightless and touch the sky. Now he can do that freely. With this new alternative brought to his awareness, he has no reason to ever return home. He never belonged in that world. The only thread still connecting him to that place is Amiria. Amiria who made her own choice. She chose Wyverna and King Dietrich.
“Oh, by the way.” Stirling reaches into the drawstring bag he attached to his belt, taking out a small handful of coins.
He extends his hand out to Bernard who asks, “What’s this?”
“Payment for the registration fee and all the food you gave me,” Stirling explains. Bernard holds out his cupped hand allowing Stirling to drop the sum into it.
Bernard shakes his head, not needing to count. “This is way more than what I loaned you.”
“Consider it interest.” Stirling smiles.
Bernard chuckles, “You’re a good kid. Let’s go celebrate our first win.” Bernard holds up his fist clenched around the coins, “On me.”
“I think you just approve of any excuse to enjoy festivities. Do you not want to watch the rest of the races?” Stirling brings up.
“I guess. We’ve probably lost our spot by now. It can get kinda cramped at the bottom,” Bernard advises.
Stirling stares at him blankly.
Bernard expands, “Unlike the regular competitions throughout the year, the Games are free to watch, but the wealthy still get the better seats. Whether they sit lower and closer to the racer like during the opening ceremonies, or they sit higher to have a more level view of the flying.” Bernard pauses. “There’s actually a row assigned to participants.”
“But I’m guessing you’re not allowed to sit with me?” Stirling already knows the answer.
“No,” Bernard confirms.
“I’d rather sit with you guys.”
Bernard grins. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. Let's go finish watching.”
Returning to the bleachers, Stirling follows Bernard and Eve up the stairs popping out on a walkway across the front row. Scanning the audience Bernard searches for an open space for three, “Seems like there’s some room down that way.”
The three of them shuffle and slide their way past the onlookers who turn to acknowledge the people scooting past them. Their annoyed faces turn awestruck as they recognize Stirling.
“Didn’t he just win?”
“What is he doing down here?”
“He’s from that little village over the hill.”
Stirling takes his seat between Bernard and Eve. Straining his neck to look up he can see the intermediate racers prepared to leap from the edge when the alarm sounds.
The horn blares from the cliffside. Stirling winces, his resting hands squeeze his knees. Eve follows his gripping hands up to his eyes closed in pain. She doesn’t watch as the racers plunge from the starting line, diving nose-first toward the sandy land. The wall of wind runs over them seconds after the dragon’s pass. He opens his eyes and catches Eve’s before she bounces back to the racers. Releasing the grip on his knees he focuses his breathing and distracts himself with the race that instantly ensnares him.
Stirling sat captivated through the intermediate and the advanced races. But they are nowhere close to beholding the elite race happening now. Stirling can’t remove his eyes from the blue dragon, the way its feathers shimmer like a melting icicle as it travels through the air.
This is a quetzalcoatl. This is Quilan’s dragon. The rarest breed. They are elegant, intelligent, and incredibly swift. You can purchase a herd of Dracos for the same price as a single quetzalcoatl. Purchasing a quetzalcoatl is purchasing your win. They are unbeatable. Stirling sees this first hand as he watches the way it’s able to wrap around the pillar as it turns like rope sliding around a beam.
Each of the contenders in the elite division would be able to lap every single rider in the beginner’s round.
“Maybe we’ll get a chance to race him one day,” Stirling tells Ignis who is watching from a designated area to store your dragon back on the top of the cliffs.
“I’d be okay with that. I’d like to place second so we can just fly behind that dragon the whole time,” Ignis replies with a mental wink.
Stirling’s whole body sighs. “Why do I bother with you at times.”
“Because you love me as much as life itself,” Ignis gloats.
“Shut up, Ignis.”
Fourteen
Ignis lopes behind the group as Bernard and Eve accompany Stirling partway to the Inn he is required to stay at before they return home themselves. Luckily for Bernard and Eve, Stirling’s scheduled events were not daily. The matches spanning over the next month give the dragons and racers ample time to rest and enjoy the festivities.
“Bernard, why are there no female racers?” Stirling inquires.
Bernard doesn’t hesitate with his answer. “Because women are too fragile to fly a dragon.”
“Fragile? I don’t want to be the person who tells that to Amiria.” Stirling laughs to Ignis, then says aloud to Bernard, “Are they allowed?”
“No, definitely not,” he states. “It’s like jousting or any knight's game. Women can’t be knights, it’s too dangerous for them. But they can help do their part by working at the games or caring for the professionals.”
“I think they’d be better than you’d think. If you give them the same training and the same standards, I bet you’ll have some of the top flyers who are female.” Stirling says, disagreeing with Bernard’s point.
“Look at you.” Eve nudges Stirling. “Standing up for women.”
Stirling blushes. “It’s, well, my friend back home, she can outfly everyone here. We have plenty of women as knights and guards. They didn’t care what you were, you are assigned the job, so you better figure out how to do it.”
Eve hangs back. “Oh? Was she a girlfriend?”
“NO–No, we’re close friends—What’s that?” Stirling diverts the conversation to a crowd surrounding a large wooden display board.
Bernard smirks at Stirling’s quick change of topic. “That is one of the reasons we're walking with you. You, my young man, made the village extremely happy.”
Ignis slows to a stop, knowing he can’t proceed any further. Stirling leaves Ignis behind and approaches the crowd. Standing on his toes he can see clearly over everyone’s head, “What do you mean?”
The board is indecipherable as he jumps around the markings, colors, and numbers. Small blocks numbered and color-coded are slid into slots lining one side of the board. Seeing an orange tab with a white zero painted on it answers one of Stirling’s questions. Though he still can’t decode what all the numbers beside the racer’s tabs mean.
“Boy, this is a betting board. All those numbers are your odds based on prior experience and prior training, which is none for you. Then how many people placed a bet on you and for what position,” Bernard explains.
“I’m not following.” Stirling cocks his head to the side, “Why is my number so high?”
“It means out of. For example, one out of three means, one out of three races you have a chance at getting first place. You had one out of a thousand and only one person bet on you.”
“Did you guys bet on me?” Stirling raises an eyebrow at Bernard’s purpling face as he struggles to contain his explosive excitement.
“Yes!” He bursts. “Yes, we did! The town played it smart, and we all pitched in and placed a single bet. The only bet placed on you winning first place.” Bernard slaps Stirling on the back, “You, boy, just won the village a large sum of coin. We can live comfortably this year. We knew we saw something in you.” Bernard rubs his hands together. “Now it’s time to collect. Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” Bernard shakes Stirling again with proud enthusiasm and disappears pushing his way through the crowd.
“Hey! It’s the cheater!” a man in riding gear and a halved black and white cape yells.
Confused, Stirling searches the faces around him. The betting board no longer exists, unblinking eyes poke and prod from every angle. Dread washes over him as he returns to the man in black and white. His accusatory eyes inject ice into Stirling’s veins, sending pinpricks down his body. Stirling shrinks as the confronting racer squares his shoulders. Behind him, Stirling counts three more racers who came in close to last poised with their arms crossed.
Stirling takes half a step back raising his hands to chest level, “Hey, it was ruled in. I didn’t cheat. I was just playing by the rules I was told.”
“Don’t play dumb with us. Maybe you’re not playing, you can’t even pronounce your words correctly.” The man sneers, shoving Stirling in the chest. Stirling stumbles back a few steps. Then spectators immediately around them gasp, sending out an invite for more to watch.
Eve grabs Stirling’s arm steadying him, her face puffed with fury, “Hey! It’s not his fault you were too stupid to think of it!”
“You better watch your mouth girly, remember your place.” The man snaps at her.
“Leave her out of this,” Stirling defends stepping in between them, “This is between us. Plus, didn’t you come in around tenth place? You weren't going to win anyway.”
The man’s movements are a flash. Within a blink, the crowd shows a display of every emotion. Women cover their mouths while others snicker. Men cross their arms with disapproval at those making heckling remarks in the racer’s favor. No one besides Eve defends Stirling as he doubles over. Grimacing in pain he wraps his arms around his stomach and drops to his knees.
“Stirling!” Eve panics, stooping down beside him with her arm cradled around him, “GUARDS!”
“I’ll roast him,” Ignis calls out.
“Stay back, Ignis,” Stirling instructs, still clenching his stomach.
“Go back to your fields, peasant.” He spits, the wad landing in Stirling’s hair and splattering in Eve’s face. “Look at you—pathetic.”
“If I’m pathetic, but I beat you in a race, what does that make you?”
Eve barely leaps up in time to keep her balance as the man snatches Stirling’s cape, yanking him up to him, “Yeah? You cheat your way to first and you think you’re some big shot now? Mr. Zero, Mr. Nothing, I’ve been competing for five years, so you talk to your veterans with respect.”
Stirling coughs a wounded smile. “Five years? And you’re still in the beginners?”
With a surge of rage, the man pulls back his fist. Stirling grabs the wrist holding firm to his cape and grimaces in anticipation.
“BREAK IT UP!” a guard orders.
“RELEASE HIM!” another demands as the crowd parts ways letting them through.
Complying with the guards’ orders he releases Stirling’s cape by throwing him to the ground. Stirling winces as his shoulder scrapes across the gravel.
“All right, Grimni, you’ve had your fill now move along. Leave the kid alone,” the first guard instructs.
Grimni waves the guards off. “He asked for it.”
“Go on, get on with your day. He’s not worth getting kicked out of the games.”
“Fine.” Grimni shoots Stirling a warning glare. “You’ve got off easy for what you’ve done.” He signals to his compatriots and vanishes into the numerous faces of the surrounding people.
The crowd already losing interest and dissipating, Bernard shoves himself to the front of the remaining audience, “Oi! You all right?” He slides to Stirling’s side as Eve helps him sit up. Leaning over he cups Stirling under the armpits like an infant and lifts him to his feet.
The Guard turns to Stirling, “You’re lucky you didn’t hit back, or we would report you to the board.”
Eve puts her hands on her hips, “Oh? But the man who came out of nowhere and assaulted him doesn’t even get a reprimand?”
The Guard blinks slowly, glancing at Eve then returns to Stirling, “I’d control your girl if I were you, or we’re going to have problems. And you should be glad it’s only disqualification. If you were a regular citizen, I would have to apprehend you.”
“Yes, sir,” Stirling mumbles, dropping his gaze to the guard’s shoes.
Bernard waits for the Guards to leave, “So it was one of the racers.”
“Yeah, I guess people are the same no matter where you go.” Stirling sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as he touches his stomach, “You guys should head back to the village before it gets too late. You’ve got good news to spread.” Stirling nods at the sack of coins hanging from a cord across Bernard’s chest.
“You sure? It looks like you can use the company?” Bernard invites.
“Yeah, but once I get back to Ignis’ side, I should be fine.” Stirling shakes his head, turning the offer down.
“Maybe we can see if you’re allowed to stay back in the village.” Eve’s soft hand curls around Stirling’s with concern.
He takes a moment to observe his rough and scarred hand in hers. “They want all the racers to stay there for easier access if they do need to speak to us.”
“Eve, let the boy go. People can only handle you in small doses anyway,” Bernard says, tugging on her shoulder.
Eve slaps his hand away. “Fine, but I want some honey-soaked peaches and a wild berry pastry for the ride home.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Bernard teases.
With a soft sigh, Stirling waves as they part their separate ways. Slouching his shoulders, Stirling distances himself from the mass of people returning to his place beside Ignis.
“How’s your stomach?” Ignis questions.
“It hurts, but not as much as being hit with a stick by Amiria,” Stirling claims.
Walking down the desolate road compacted by the heavy footprints of dragons, they stroll in silence. Stirling can still hear the laughter and joyous conversations of the people exploring the festival grounds as they near the inn.
A middle-aged woman throws a sheet over a line and acknowledges Stirling's quiet arrival. “Oh! You must be the new one.”
Stirling nods. “I am. How did you know?”
“My husband owns this inn. I know all the racers sweetie. Go on in and my daughter will be able to help you out. If you need anything, I’m Ceola.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Stirling responds with a dip of his chin. Leaving Ignis to wait outside, Stirling heads into the front room of the inn.
Farah with a face splattered with freckles sits behind a table that is more loose paperwork than the tabletop. “Well, look who returns.”
“Yeah. I got the coin like you asked,” Stirling says, awkwardly holding up the small bag.
“Well then, let me properly introduce myself. I’m Farah, may I get you a room?” She offers.
“Stirling of—of Patu,” he introduces. “Yeah, uh, what do you have left?”
She picks up some of the papers in front of her and flips through them. Her eyes skim the words in front of her. Stirling sees nothing but scribbles and numbers. “We only have two beds in one of the communal rooms left. It’s a large room with five beds. You each get a lockable trunk to keep your belongings in. I keep suggesting to my father we need to start expanding. But he always answers with, “Next year.”
“This communal room. What level are the people staying in there,” Stirling asks cautiously.
She looks back down at the paper. “Beginners. So, they are the guys you raced with today.” She smiles cheerily.
